


warped reality

by lyncthewicked



Series: Warped Reality [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Arkham Asylum, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, Jerome Valeska is his own warning, LGBTQ Characters, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Other, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 17:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30025599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyncthewicked/pseuds/lyncthewicked
Summary: ❝He looks at the world through a stained glass window.❞Ambrose Valesquez, a nineteen-year-old art student has been framed for the brutal murder of his younger sisters, Melody and Nora. After a psychiatric evaluation, he's deemed as criminally insane and sent to Arkham Asylum to serve out a three-year sentence.Knowing he's innocent, Ambrose plans to keep his head down and stay quiet until his sentence is over. But staying unknown in Arkham Asylum is proving to be quite difficult.
Relationships: Jerome Valeska/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Warped Reality [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208786
Kudos: 2





	1. chapter one

The Valesquez's are known in their little neighbourhood as a poor but kind family with an aptitude for generosity and charity. Loving and forgiving as they were, the tightly knit family has faced its fair share of tragedies, as with any normal family in their position.

Though death was not something they had experienced, the three children's vastly different personalities cause problems every now and then. Whether it be one of the twins speaking back to their landlord, ending with them being evicted, or the eldest son getting into one-sided fights to protect the twins or even fights amongst themselves.

The father, Zackariah, known for being a quiet, gentle man bestowed with a gift for baking, a large sum of their small income came from the cakes he sells. Though he sells a lot of them, a majority goes to the homeless of Gotham

Unlike her husband, Charlotte has built up quite the reputation for herself. Known for her loud, strong personality, she has been dubbed the Momma Bear of the community, always speaking up against prejudice and being fiercely protective of not only her family but the community as a whole.

Following in her mother's footsteps is Melody, the eldest of the twins, with an affinity for music and everything artistic. Wishing to live up to Charlotte, she keeps her head high and her voice strong, never allowing anyone to speak over her.

Though identical in appearance, Nora is the quieter, more studious of the two. Keeping her head buried in science textbooks well beyond her age, Nora tries to keep to herself and not draw unwanted attention.

The eldest child of the family, Ambrose, takes more after his father. Quiet, gentle, and introverted. Though non-confrontational he may be, Ambrose never fails to stand up for his sisters whenever they're being bullied, even when it ends with him bloody and beaten every single time.

Even with their misfortunes, they remain strong. Unbreakable.

But not one of their tragedies holds a candle to the one to befall the family late one afternoon.

Ambrose repeats their names over and over like a mantra, picturing their faces, all their little quirks. He remembers the way Charlotte and Nora give the smallest smirks whenever Melody makes a silly joke. He remembers the way Zackariah weeps with joy every time a child he cares for on the streets is found by their parents, already beginning to bake the congratulatory cake with tears streaming down his face and a wide smile gracing his lips.

It's all gone.

The only image that flashes across his vision when he closes his eyes is Melody and Nora's lifeless, mutilated bodies on his bed, their blood soaking the mattress beneath them. Their arms wrapped around each in one last desperate attempt to find solace in the face of death. Their faces splattered with blood and a whisper of the last moments.

Fear, agony, confusion.

Ambrose had only found them. He didn't kill them.

He could never harm his baby sisters.

His memory is blank after that, his mind filling with static until there's nothing left but the screaming silence. The faint sensation of pain lingers in the back of his head, but he can't remember what caused it.

Blobs of greys and yellows make up his vision for a while, but it slowly begins to sharpen into almost discernable shapes.

Ambrose's unfocused eyes slowly drift down to his trembling hands, which are cuffed and restrained on the wooden table. They are stained with blood. His breathing quickens as his fingers twitch, nausea rolls in his stomach and he wants nothing but to scratch and claw at his hands until are no longer recognisable. It's baby sister's blood. He has their blood on his hands.

It's on his hands.

The muffled sound of a door opening catches his attention as a gust of warm air hits him, giving him the relief from the cold he didn't know he needed. He doesn't know how long he's been there, hell, he doesn't even know where he is.

His grasp on reality is so weak Ambrose isn't even sure if he's alive, is he dreaming?

His vision is stuck in a state of perpetual twisting colours, flashes of light hit him every now and then. Colours he doesn't think even exist swarm around him in a slow, twisting dance that leaves him dizzy. His head feels as though it's been filled with syrup.

Through the thick slurry in his brain, he vaguely registers the presence of two or so people. He can't quite tell.

Soon, their conversation breaks through the barrier separating him from them and it feels as though his ear has just popped.

"Ambrose Valesquez, a nineteen-year-old art student studying at Maple Wood Arts Academy. A prime suspect in the murders of Nora and Melody Valesquez, twin sisters aged fifteen."

Ambrose blinks rapidly, squinting at the slowly defining shape of a man sitting across from him. He thinks he can see someone standing behind him.

"Good morning, Mr Valesquez."

He frowns, opening his mouth to reply but all that comes out is a broken groan.

"Did you find anything in the examination, Doctor Thompkins?"

"There's nothing in his system that suggests inebriation and nothing showed up on the CAT scans. He... should be in perfect health, but he appears almost braindead."

"He doesn't exactly appear to be in perfect health"

"I can see that, Jim."

Ambrose scowls, hands tightening into fists as his mind registers their conversation. A strange burst of anger crashes through him. He is not braindead.

"Was he responsive at all?"

"He wasn't for me, no."

"Ambrose? Do you know where you are right now?"

Ambrose's frown deepens and he lowers his gaze to glare at the table. He shakes his head after a few moments.

"You're at the G.C.P.D, Ambrose. You're currently in an interrogation. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

He nods slowly, turning the words over in his mind. Interrogation. He's in an interrogation.

"Good..." Jim sighs, eyeing him closely. "Do you know why you're here?"

He shakes his head again, but he knows exactly why he's there. Faint screams enter his head again and he squeezes his eyes closed, presses his lips together while shaking his head rapidly.

"Ambrose? I need you to calm down for me, alright? Take deep breaths. Follow me." A woman's voice breaks through the screaming and his head snaps up, wide eyes locking with Doctor Thompkins, who's kneeling beside him, concerned brown gaze scanning his tear-stained face.

He nods and swallows heavily, taking deep breaths with her until the panic subsided soon afterwards.

Doctor Thompkins then turns to Jim, standing up with an incredulous expression.

"Jim, I- don't you think he's not stable enough for this right now? Look at hi-"

"Did you kill your sisters, Ambrose?"

His heart stops as an ice-cold wave crashes over him, filling his mind and body with panic as he struggles to breathe. His head falls down with a loud bang on the table and pain erupts from his forehead. He thinks he's screaming, but he can't quite tell.

Everything becomes a blur and before he knows it, he's being tossed into a small, cold cell. Fear captures his heart as he realizes he's in an entirely new and different environment with no one he knows or trusts.

With his brain filled with static and colours dancing in his vision, he's too unstable to do anything about his situation so he stumbles over to what appears to be a bed and collapses on it, falling into a nightmare filled sleep.


	2. chapter two

**A heavy, metallic crash followed by the sound of maniacal laughter and yelling of several moments is what brings Ambrose out of his deep slumber.** He sits upright in a flash and almost yells as pain flares in his back but he bites it back. His head is pounding and he's still struggling to open his eyes. With each blink he's met by flashing colours; reds, oranges, and yellows dance in his vision and he thinks he might be at some kind of party, but the lack of pounding music suggests otherwise. Was he involved in an accident? He doesn't know.

He presses his palms against his eyes, breathing deeply. He leans against the cold brick wall beside him. Eventually, he's able to keep his eyes open and the first thing he notices is the absence of the flashing colours.

Ambrose squints at the minimal amount of light pouring in from the small, dirty window in the corner of the room. He pushes himself off the wall and slowly scans the room, trying to not move too fast as he's still in a lot of pain. He's never been able to handle physical pain well.

The room is small and cold and _depressing_. There are no colours in sight; only dull shades of grey. The bed (if it can even be called that) he's sitting on is hard and uncomfortable, the slim mattress does nothing to provide comfort from the metal frame and the blanket is so thin it may as well not be there at all. It feels like he's in a prison cell, but that wouldn't make sense; he has no reason to be in one.

Where is his family? Where is _he_?

Something catches his attention and he finally glances down at himself. His heart rate increases as he takes in the prison-esque uniform he's wearing. There's something written in red over his heart.

B-12.

For several seconds, he just stares at it, unable to comprehend the situation he's found himself in. A situation of which he can't remember getting himself into.

Then he's basically falling out of the bed and standing up way too fast. He gasps, grabbing his head as he doubles over, almost crashing into the wall. Pain crashes over him in waves and he suddenly can't see through the wall of colours. He slowly lowers himself until he's sitting on the floor and rubs his palms against his eyes, grimacing.

He sits there for a while, waiting for the pain to subside. The screaming and laughing coming from outside the room are _not_ helping. Eventually, it does, but there's still a dull ache in the back of his head.

The room is spinning when he grabs the wall and uses it to drag himself into a standing position. He keeps hold of it, the freezing edges and ridges bite into his skin but he ignores it, squeezing his eyes closed.

When he no longer feels as though he's going to collapse if lets go of the wall, lets go of it and steps towards the metal door and peers through the bars. He's met by a poorly lit corridor lined with _more_ cells.

His eyes fall closed and he rests his head against the metal bars, sighing heavily. He doesn't want to believe it. He _can't_ be in prison.

The sound of footsteps reach his ears and he perks up, looking through the bars again. He finds what appears to be a guard coming down the corridor and leans on the door, ready to call out to her, but as he presses his weight on it swings open and he falls forward, crashing to the ground.

He groans and slowly stumbles back to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks over at the guard and finds her watching him with a mocking grin.

Ambrose practically limps over to her and stops a couple of meters away from her when he notices her tense up and clutches onto the clipboard in her hands harder.

"Uh, hi, can I please talk to you?" He asks quietly, observing her obviously dyed black hair, and the regrowth of light brown sticking out slightly from under her cap. She appears to be middle-aged, with tanned skin and hazel eyes.

She looks him over once with a sudden look of disinterest and drawls, "Go ahead."

"Right, uh, thank you," he begins, glancing around the corridor and crossing his arms over his chest, hunching over slightly. "Where am I, exactly?"

She stares at him in disbelief for a moment before she begins laughing, shaking her head, as though he's just told her a joke. "Good one, kid. Go to the common area with everyone else, you're late."

He opens and closes his mouth several times until he's sure he's beginning to look stupid. "N-No, I actually _don't_ know where I am right now."

The guard stares at him as if trying to guess whether or not he's messing with her. Apparently, she deems him honest or trustworthy because she sighs, turning to face him properly, flipping through the papers on the clipboard.

"Name?"

"Ambrose Valesquez."

She pauses and her eyes snap back up to him, brows furrowed. Then she shakes her head with a disbelieving laugh and Ambrose can't figure why she's reacting the way she is.

"Oh, Valesquez, right, the new inmate. I thought you said Valeska."

His brows furrow, thoroughly perplexed. "Well, that's okay, my teachers used to spell it wrong all the time. What do you mean 'inmate'?"

She stares at him long and hard with narrowed eyes. Ambrose stares back, confused and unsure if she simply has a staring problem. Clearly, they aren't communicating and are on two different pages.

"You're in Arkham Asylum, kid."

Ambrose's heart stops dead in his chest and he suddenly can't breathe. He chokes out a quiet, " _What_?"

She nods slowly, looking at him strangely.

He shakes his head in denial, wringing his hands. "No, no, I'm not supposed to be here. I haven't done anything! I don't even remember how I got here!"

She purses her lips and watches him with the barest hint of sympathy. "I need you to go to the common area."

Ambrose's breath quickens and his hands are shaking. "No, you don't understand, there must be a mistake-"

"I said _now_ ," She demands, hand falling to rest on the gun in her belt. He stares at it, skin tingling and hands shaking. The faint memory of several gunshots echo around him and he stumbles back, breathing heavily.

Ambrose runs his hands through his hair, then down his face, trying to steady his breathing. He nods, keeping his eyes on the ground, allowing the shorter woman to guide him down the corridor. She's keeping her distance, which he doesn't mind. He doesn't want people getting close to him right now.

 _Arkham Asylum_. Christ, he'll be lucky if he makes it out with half of his limbs. He takes a few steadying breaths, crossing his arms over his chest as they approach two guards standing on either side of the gate separating them from the common area, the sound of yelling and cackling growing nearer and clearer. He can see the people inside but he can't focus on any of the faces, already jumping to the next, never lingering too long to actually commit any to memory. He chews on his lip anxiously, tapping his foot when he comes to a stop in front of the doors.

From their drooping eyelids and distant gazes, he realizes with a pang of fear that the rumours of the guards being uncaring about the safety of the inmates are probably true.

One of them, a man, glances at them and pushes the door open. Ambrose is then roughly shoved inside and he just barely manages to not trip over his own feet and embarrass himself in front of everybody.

All chatter in the room dies out and as he's standing up straight, he realizes most of the people are watching him intently. He swallows uneasily and steps further inside, ignoring the shaking in his legs.

There are around ten rows of tables in haphazard lines stretching to both ends of the room. His gaze lands on an empty table in the back corner of the room and he sighs in relief.

Ambrose scans the crowd again, trying to not let his fear show too plainly on his face. Then again, he knows he can't just strut into the room all fearless and confident; he'll get knocked down into place faster than you can say 'Arkham Asylum'. If there's one thing he knows about prison, it's that you _cannot_ act cocky and confident.

He locks eyes with several inmates as he walks through the rows; each person looking as terrifying as the next. The walk is unbearably long, and the roaming eyes of certain men have his skin crawling and his stomach twisting. Once he reaches his table, he sits so he's facing the room. He doesn't want anyone sneaking up on him.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he turns his eyes to the table, fidgeting uncomfortably. Soon, the inmates grow bored and the talking starts up again. They occasionally look over at the young man practically hiding in the corner of the room, attempting to make himself appear as small as possible.

As he's staring at the table, he decides that for now, he's just going to lay low until he can get into contact with a family member. Preferably his mother; Charlotte is more likely to succeed in getting him out than his dad is.

His mother will be here. He knows she'll come to bring him home soon. Back to his family.

Ambrose sighs, resting his chin on his fist. He misses his sisters terribly. All he wants to do right now is go home and be in his room with his sisters; he and Melody painting on the floor as Nora studies on the bed, surrounded by books and papers filled with messy handwriting only she understands, soft music filling the room along with the faint sound of Charlotte and Zackariah laughing about something downstairs.

His hands itch to paint or draw; he often draws when he's anxious or upset. It's soothing for him and a great way to distract himself from anything negative in his life.

The more Ambrose ponders over his situation, he starts realizing he can't remember _anything_ from the past couple days. He huffs quietly and runs his hand through his hair. The whole situation is confusing and upsetting and he doesn't know what to do.

Perhaps, in the meantime, he can try asking a guard for a sketchpad and pencils. Preferably coloured pencils. He prefers coloured artworks to bland black and white ones. Colour is so much more exciting. It has more depth, more meaning. You can do a lot with colour and convey so much more emotion so why limit yourself to black and white? Then again, he has seen a few artists create amazing artworks with just black and white. He supposes it has more to do with shading and how skilled you are, but he still firmly believes colour is better.

Ambrose is suddenly snapped out of his thoughts as someone sat in front of him; a large middle-aged man with black hair and tanned skin and almost black eyes. His face is blank but there's a strange glint in his eyes that makes Ambrose uneasy.

"Hello..." He greets, bringing his arms closer to his chest.

"Be my friend." His voice is deep and raspy; a smokers voice. He sounds as though he's been chain-smoking for the past forty years.

Ambrose's eyebrows raise. "Maybe try introducing yourself first."

The man scowls childishly. " _Fine_. I'm Xavier."

He nods meekly, heart racing. Xavier's stare is... intense. It makes him uncomfortable.

"Right, I'm-"

"Already pestering the new guy, Xavie?" Both men look over at the girl who interrupted them. She's short with messy brown hair and manic blue eyes and unusually pale skin.

Xavier pouts and looks away, aggressively folding his arms over his chest. "No," he snaps, almost sounding as though he's on the verge of tears.

"Uh huh." She turns her attention to Ambrose, who flinches back slightly at her suddenly manic grin. "I like making friends."

"W-well, you're more than welcome to sit here if you want," He offers, gesturing to the spot next to a sulking Xavier.

"I think I will," She declares, basically throwing herself down onto the bench. "I'm Goldie."

"It's nice to meet you both..." He replies, eyeing the pair with some caution. Suddenly, Goldie lunges across the table and yanks him into a surprisingly strong hug. Ambrose yelps and sits frozen, eyes wide. He eventually awkwardly pats her on the back and winces as he realizes Mike's obnoxious and abrupt laughter has garnered them some attention.

Ambrose gently pries the girl off him and forces a smile on his face as she settles back into her seat with a wide, pleased grin. He remains silent as newest 'friends' set off into a debate about chickens and eggs. He looks around the room, finally having the chance to people-watch without having them watch back.

Soon, his eyes find another man around his age; a ginger-haired man surrounded by a group of men at a table near the middle of the room. What startles him the most isn't the fact that he was already staring at him; it was the unnerving, shark-esque smile plastered on his face.

Ambrose frowns, shifting uncomfortably. His stare is intense and, honestly, quite terrifying. Everything about him screams danger. Ambrose eventually looks away, knowing the boy is still watching him as he focuses his attention on the conversation between Goldie and Xavier. He doesn't look back at the man.

So much for laying low.


End file.
